


Seek The Light

by panther118



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon but not canon, Gen, Hunter/Witch! Dean, I will try for plot, Let's Play, Not much is canon?, general smut, naughtiness abounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:42:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panther118/pseuds/panther118
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a mechanic by day- but at night he and his brother Sam work with a secret society called Hunters, who work to dispel evil from the world. When an easy job goes wrong, Dean finds himself being drained by a mysterious and shadowy figure he cannot escape. Can his friends find him the help he needs in time? And what will he do about the strange and unsettling visions he keeps having about a man he encountered outside Pamela Barnes shop the night he decided to seek help?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a Supernatural fic and my second fanfic ever. I am really, really hoping this one goes okay. I absolutely love these characters and I wanted something fun and supernatural but a little less, Supernatural, if that makes sense. 
> 
> Nothing to warn about as of now, but I'll add to the tags and post additional notes if I feel like you need a heads up. As a general warning there will be smut and there will be a little bit of spookiness but I will try to avoid gore. Its not my style, really. Let's face it, I'm here to see how things turn out for my boys....

One Month Ago...

 

It was supposed to be an easy job. No big deal that Sammy had to be out of town on a job with Jo. That’s what flashed through Dean’s mind as everything started to flicker and go dark…

It was an in and out job. Just a random spook making a little too much noise for comfort. No big surprise when you’ve had a death in the family. Sometimes Granny isn’t ready to go. Sometimes Uncle Ricky is irritated no one ever told him about the family’s history of heart problems…he would have laid off the pizza. Really. 

Dean had everything he needed. It was simple. One shot. He would be in and out in fifteen minutes and hanging out at the Roadhouse in no time. 

But sometime people just can’t listen. Like tonight. One client feeling like they had to be in the other room. One idiot client who couldn’t listen when he told her that really, she needed to go so he could take care of business. One very stupid woman who thought she heard Granny Maybelle scream as he worked and she had to dash into the damn circle and ruin everything. 

Bobby was going to give him hell for this when he found out...


	2. In The Alley

A full moon shines brilliantly in the cloudless night, illuminating the rooftops across the city in a magnificent silver light. It is the kind of night for lovers- for kisses in moonlit gardens or beneath the glow of the streetlights. Hell, even the parking lot of a bar would be romantic with the way the stars were glittering in the sky. Dean, unfortunately, doesn't have time to enjoy it. Reaching inside the pocket of his leather jacket, he subtly flicked the top of his cellphone and checked the time before ducking into an alley. Its late enough the shop should be empty, which means he can have Pamela all to himself. He glances around himself cautiously. You can't be too careful, anymore, not even when you're a hunter. 

Its a dirty, crowded alley full of shabby stairwells, unmarked doors and dented trash bins. In the gloom of the faded brick walls doors loom silent and uninviting at scattered intervals. The soft scuffle of his leather boots sounds like a cacophony in the silence that surrounded him. In the gleam of the moonlight he can see his shadow stretched tall and irregular against the dusty red bricks. Behind it, so close it seems to be attached, looms the form of a tall, cloaked man- a menacing reminder of the task at hand. Unnerved, Dean pulled the collar of his faded leather jacket higher with a shiver and quickened his pace. 

Dragging his eyes from the shadows on the walls, he turns sharply around the corner to his destination. He doesn't need to look up to know what waits there- a tall oak door, heavy with age and importance, topped by a tattered green awning. Nothing to give away the significance and power of what waits behind it; this door does not advertise itself to the world. Dean doesn’t mind. He likes the ringers, the ones who sneak up on you. He always has. Sightlessly, wordlessly, he moves quickly to it, unaware of the man who stands there as though he is waiting for him. 

With a stumble and a muted curse Dean falls into his waiting arms, his breath coming quickly as he looks up at the man who effortlessly steadies him. He’s very nearly the same height as him. His stature is slim, athletic. There’s a quiet confidence in the movement of his hands. A faint line of stubble traced his jawline. His hair, artfully mussed, is so dark it blends into the night. But it is his eyes, clear blue- like ice on a January morning- that causes Dean to truly forget himself. They shimmered in the most startling way, but darkly, as though they were made to drown a person unwary enough to gaze at them for long. 

A blinding vision takes Dean over as he stares at the mysterious stranger holding onto him- the alley disappearing as though a shadow had dropped thickly behind them. The world is shrouded in a a curtain of black mist and Dean could see only him. The enigmatic man who is holding him steady, his hands brushing lightly over his skin, a quiet smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. His hands grasping Dean’s bare hips as surely as he had held his shoulders only moments before. In the darkness of the vision Dean could see only them- his warm, sun-bright skin a stark contrast to the milky pale hue the man who grasped him tight. 

His lips, parted gently, full and inviting, descend upon Dean. His mouth gently drinking him in, sliding with delicacy down his neck and to the hollow of his throat. A moan escapes Deans’ throat and he shamelessly reacts to the silken slide of the other man’s lips. As they move he can hear the murmur of his voice- gravelly, hypnotic and low- in his ear. 

“Sweet, so sweet,” he whispers to Dean, his mouth making his way across his collar bone, “this is what you have needed.”

Dean’s gasp of pleasure tumbles into a groan of impatient desire as he continues to work his magic- nibbling and teasing every bit of his exposed skin. Unable to resist, he lets his hands roam. First across his firm chest until they found themselves feathering across his collar bone and over his shoulders and onto his back. The stranger growls and throws his head back in pleasure, allowing the hunter to explore the smooth lines of his shoulders and neck until his fingertips began to caress his cheek, gently stroking that hint of starlit stubble with the pad of his thumb. 

With the suddenness with which it began, the vision fades and Dean finds himself alone in the doorway once more. No, not alone, but with the man in his vision, who looks at him curiously and solemnly, his eyes snapping in the darkness with an unnamed fire. Dean’s eyes linger on his lips, parted gently, as though he were about to kiss him again.   
As the thought comes to Dean that that they have never kissed, he realizes that his hand is out of his leather jacket and stretched out as if to touch his face. Flushing, he pulls back and steps out of his arms. 

“Sorry, man,” he mutters, stepping past him into the doorway, intent on escaping the awkward situation. “Didn't see you. I’m not normally so clumsy.”

“Wait,” his voice is low, barely above a whisper. It is the same, that gravelly, rumbling voice that gently hummed its way down his jawline in the vision. 

Strangely, the command sets Dean ablaze again, and he can feel his body tightening in response to the quiet authority of his order. Unable to control the heat pooling in his stomach Dean turns and looks back at the man once more. The moonlight glares pale on the man’s hand as he reaches out and pushes back the collar of the leather jacket his finger tugging at his shirt collar as well, exposing Dean’s flannel buttondown and the warm skin below his throat. In the stillness, Dean hears the other man’s breath catch as he draws him out of the shadowy doorway and into the moonlight. Silently, he reaches out and smooths his hand across Deans’ shoulders, letting his hands fall until there is simply the brush of his fingertips against his wrist. 

Again Dean has a blinding vision of this mysterious, low voiced man and what his hands can do to him. His fingers, smooth and elegant, catch his gaze. Desperately, Dean tries to remember anything he might have done that would bring these thoughts, unbidden, so quickly to his mind. He wonders, briefly, why he would start having visions of this nature for no discernible reason. But before he can think to say anything, or find an answer, the man has turned away and disappeared into the night. 

Feeling a mixture of both disappointment and relief, Dean turns back into the doorway and pushes through it, and into the shadows of the shop.


	3. In the Store

Dean pauses to catch his breath as he steps inside the warm and surprisingly well-lit store. The ancient and ageless feel in the air is broken only slightly by the smattering of modern books tossed pell-mell on the shelves and the shining black of the computer on the long and deeply scarred wooden counter that runs through the back of the store. The brightness of the light from the many lamps scattered throughout the room chase away the shadows, a relief to Dean as he steps deeper into the store. Dean’s eyes skip over the books, the orbs, jars and statues. To a lay person this place would probably be fascinating, if overwhelming. To him, it was one of many. His favorite, perhaps, but certainly not one in a million.

Dean knew well that places like this could be found anywhere, if you knew how to look for them. Not just in bog cities, either, but in suburbs and off back country roads in the middle of nowhere. They would be tucked into strip-malls or in faded downtown storefronts. But there were there, just the same, no matter where he and Sam drove. This one, though, was his favorite. There’s something special about your hometown store. Beyond the low-lying couches (great for sleeping off a hard job if you weren’t ready or were too tired to make it home) there was space meant for reading and research. Past the tables of sage sticks and abalone shells, there was a counter- ornately carved, scarred up and reaching nearly the length of the store.

Behind it, on a high backed stool, sat the reason Dean was there. Beautiful, ageless, black hair tumbling down over her shoulders, a woman sat and read a heavy volume. Without looking up she spoke, the richness of her voice belying her apparent age, the sound of her intonating heavy with wisdom.

“ _Saluti a colui she ha paura delle ombre_ ,” She smiled, her teeth shimmering in the light, giving her the look of a great cat on the prowl. “Its been too long since you’ve come to see me Dean.”

“Greetings to the one whom the shadows fear,” Dean translated with a grin. “Quite a hello Pam. _Saluti a colui che vede clo she e nascosto._ ”

“Greetings to the one who sees that which is hidden. Very nice, Dean. Sam’s been helping you with your Latin, I see. Very pretty.” Her delight is evident in her eyes as she looks up at him, setting her book aside.

“I know I’ve not been in for a while,” Dean says, putting on as much charm as a schoolboy who knows he is in for a scolding. “I’ve been very busy with work, and as I am sure you know, Sam and I have travelled quite a bit in the last few months. I would never ignore you on purpose. You’re always a huge help to me.”

Beneath the apology was the sincere sound of friendship. It was this level of comfort and respect that made it easy for Dean to move behind the counter and reach for the bottle of whiskey Pam kept below it. Pouring to glasses and handing one to Pam, he made himself comfortable on the countertop- a gesture that would have earned most people a glare but rewarded Dean with a fond smile.

“This isn’t a social call, is it Dean,” Pam said, looking at him curiously as he quietly sipped his drink.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed.

“Tell me then Dean, what brings you to my door tonight?” Pam grinned as she threw back the drink in one go, eyes glinting for a challenge of the sort only Winchesters seemed to provide.

“I ran into a bit of a problem a few weeks ago and I need your insight,” Dean said, pouring her another glass and topping his off. “I was preforming a cleansing ritual. It was standard, run of the mill stuff. I even let Sammy run out of town with Jo that night on another assignment. The client had a shadow in the house, there’d been a death in the family, blah blah blah. Can you come send Auntie Maybelle on her way, you get the idea.”

Pamela threw her head back and laughed, a deep throaty sound. “You seriously didn’t have trouble with that! That’s beginner work Dean. You’re one of the best there is!”

“No, it should have been  easy,” Dean nodded. “It was a powerful spirit, I’ll say that, I was pretty sure that lady didn’t just go to the Methodist church up the road for her old time faith, you know? Unfortunately, the client didn’t want to leave the house. I sent her into the other room, but you know how it sounds when you get to working. She didn’t follow my instructions and she stepped into the circle while I was working. It broke my protective barriers.”

“Did you finish the ritual?”

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” Dean shook his head in frustration. “Yeah, I sent her into the light. Unfortunately, there was something there with her, and that bastard is attached to me now. Or I’m pretty sure he is. Its strong enough I’m struggling with it. None of the usual methods of making it go away are working. Hell, none of the _unusual_ methods have worked either.”

Pam looked at him closely. “You came to me for help instead of Bobby? Instead of the elders of the Hunters? There are other, more powerful witches out there you are connected with. Dean there may not be many with your talents but surely one of them would be willing to help you out…”

“I did, Pam,” he slammed his glass onto the countertop. “I tried others first. I tried everyone. No one can help me. Bobby finally told me I probably ought to come talk to you.”

Pam didn’t respond, but rose and approached Dean, taking one of the lamps off the counter between them and removing the shade. Holding it aloft, she turned the light on Dean. Behind him, stretched out onto the walls, his shadow reached tall and black towards the ceiling. Behind it, the spirit as well, twisting and turning in the light, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to relinquish its attachment to the hunter.

“I cannot directly help you. I am not a witch, as you well know. Not in the sense you need. This is much bigger than you or me. I can’t cast this spirit away from you, Dean. I can, however, seek that which might be of use to you, knowledge which is hidden from you now.” As she set the lamp down her eyes began to grow misty and dim. “I will call on the power within myself and I will see what needs to be seen.”

Knowing what he must do, Dean offered his hands, palms up, to Pam. Pam wrapped her hands around Dean’s own, and peered deeply, almost sightlessly, into the dark space where their hands met. The energy crackled between them, swelling around them in a nearly visible cloud of power and insight.

Drawing away, Pam looked at Dean with cleared eyes. “You must seek an Illume, one who wields the light within. Only this will release you from the captivity of this shadow. Only then will you know peace. Until you find one, use caution always- with your work and otherwise. I can see the hold of the shadow is strong, and it will not give you up; it will swallow the power within you if it can. You must not allow this. To do so would be eternal darkness for you and harm to many others.”

As she spoke, Dean could not help but notice the flickering of the shadows on the wall. Glancing from them to the medium before him, he could not find a way to hide his anxiety as she spoke. “Thanks. I’ll be very careful.”

“Go on honey, I’m no help to you now,” Lenora said, releasing his hand and turning back to her stool and her book. “Seek the Illume. May you be swift in your search.”

Thanking her with a nod and a swift kiss on the cheek, Dean turned and walked back out into the night, watching the shadows as they chased each other along the walls of the city until he reached his front porch. Once inside, he quickly walked to his book shelves and pulled an old and dusty text from it. Settling with it into his favorite chair, Sam’s laptop at his side, he read deeply into the night- pausing only a moment to think of the shining and mysterious man in the alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's not a lot of naughty bits yet, and I'll get some, but I want there to be an honest to goodness plot for you to enjoy as well! I love comments, suggestions and conversation! Feel free to make friends with me! It makes me feel less like I'm shouting into the void.


	4. Apothecary Surprise

The morning light is still shimmering dull and listless through the windows of Astor’s Herbal when Dean elbows his way through the door, arms full of coffee, the chimes jangling discordantly in his wake. Across the room Dean’s little brother Sam is staring studiously at a mass of jars on the wall, a clipboard in hand, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. Dean’s mouth kicks up into a slight smile at the sight of his brother, back in town and in one piece. Setting the coffees on the counter at the front with a wink and grin towards Missouri, the owner, he gleefully sneaks up the aisles, muffling his steps as much as possible before clapping his brother hard on the shoulder. The sight of him jumping, the sound of his strangled yelp, is completely worth the cuff on the shoulder as he turns around.

“Morning Sammy,” He chuckles. “You’re awfully jumpy this morning.”

“And you’re awfully sneaky,” Sam retorts, rolling his eyes. “I’d like to see you go out of town for three days with Jo and keep your sanity completely intact while chasing down a pack of extremely active ghouls. Ugly man, it would make anyone jumpy.”

“Sissy.”

“Ass.”

“That’s better,” Dean smiled again.

“Did you find anything out?” Sam’s eyes flicked from jar to clipboard, his ability to multitask undiminished by the early hour.

“Yes and no?” Dean tried his best not to sound discouraged. “Pam’s a huge help when it comes to arcane clues. In the end, I’m sure we’ll get this sorted out. But for now? Nothing.”

“Bobby gotten back to you?” Sam’s pencil continues its notations as his eyes slide sideways towards Dean, the implication that he hasn’t made contact with their stand-in parent and mentor clear.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Woke me up. Why do you think I’m up this early. Bobby doesn’t expect me to roll into the garage until ten. I’ve got at least two hours before I get to go harass him. And yet, he calls…”

“And he said?” The impatience in Sam’s voice is clear.

“Nothing. He’s searching as hard as possible. He’s got a lot of people on this. But, not surprisingly, the amount of lore on Illumes or Illume or whatever the plural is…its next to non-existent. Hopefully that Middle Eastern guy he knows will turn something up. He was a huge help with the Djiin last year.

            “Well, I hope something works out. You look like hell.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder gently, trying to soften the blow. “I know you’ve been up late looking for answers this week, but you never look this rough. I’ve seen a couple bottles of Whiskey look better on you. I’m worried.”

            “As you should be,” put in Missouri, placing a cup of coffee in each brothers hand. “Dean looks like he needs a vacation. I can’t belive Bobby is still working you like this. You’re a good hunter Dean, but you need a break. This…thing…whatever it is. Its making you sick. You know what? I’m going to call that man right now, ask him what the hell has gotten into him. Letting you run yourself ragged night and day, chasing all manner of things, with this shadow clawing at your gut. Don’t you even tell me it isn’t bothering you Dean Winchester, I can look at you and know better.” With a glare that brooked no arguments and a quick swat on the butt, she sauntered back down the aisle. “And Sam? Can you come back to the back and grab me some feverfew. That Adam kid put it where I can’t reach it. I just don’t understand that boy…”

Sam nodded and trotted after her obediently, leaving Dean to peruse the shelves. Almost without thinking, he began to run through his head the list of herbs and oils he needed to restock in his kit- since he was already here. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t notice the soft patter of footsteps in his direction until he could feel the heat of another person behind him. Not good.

Without thinking Dean whirled around, placing his back to the shelves, assuming a defensive position, his hand halfway to the knife in his jacket, before he even looked up. Even turning he brushed against them, his body far too crowded for his own comfort.  

A breathless gasp slips from Dean’s mouth, something he tried to muffle into a cough as he stares at the man behind him. It’s the man from outside Pam’s store. It was dark, but there’s no mistaking that jawline, those eyes (or, Dean admits, the too crisp trench-coat). He’s just as impressive in the daylight- if anything the shimmering ice color of his eyes is more hypnotic and the inky blackness of his hair, before a suggestion in the dark, a strange combination of sexy oil slick and feather soft down. His lean, muscular frame is intimidating, despite the fact that Dean has a few inches on him.

“Woah, man, you scared the hell outta me,” Dean says, taking a step back and to the left. “Can’t sneak up on a man like that.”

“I apologize,” he says, his voice that same glorious suggestion of granite grinding itself to sand. His eyes never leave Dean, and he seems to have no problem staring him down, his lips slightly parted, an expression of avid curiosity on his face.

“Uh, do you need some help,” Dean looked past the man, hoping desperately Sam or   
Missouri was out of the back and able to help this incredibly creepy- if hot- man get whatever it was he needed.

 “I certainly hope that you can help me,” he says, his pale eyes boring into Dean’s, rooting him to the floor. His overt gaze sends goose bumps prickling down Dean’s arms and an uncomfortable and vaguely unwanted heat pooling between his legs. “My name is Castiel, and I’m afraid I am not quite sure why I am here.”

“Well, I don’t work here,” Dean laughs, relieved at what must be an odd coincidence.  “I can get Sammy, my brother over here. He works here. Or I can get Missouri. I’m probably not going to be much help for you, really. I mean, I can make you a mean hexing powder but I expect that’s not why you’re here or you would know what you need.”

Dean silently kicks himself as he babbles, volunteering way more information than he normally would. What was wring with him? One pretty face with a voice like coffee and sex and suddlenly he can’t keep his mouth shut. The stranger- Castiel, he reminds himself- doesn’t seem to notice.”

“I’m afraid you mistake me,” he says, his eyebrows raised. “I am not here to buy herbs; I have no need of aid with any sort of powder or spells. I am here for you. I am just not sure why. I don’t know if you’ll recall, but I quite literally ran into you the other night outside of Pam’s store? I know it was late and very dark, so you might not recognize me, but we had bumped into each other…”

“I remember,” Dean says neutrally, trying hard not to let his face betray him as he recalls the vision of his hands close on Dean’s naked flesh and how his body had responded to it. It had fueled his fantasies for three solid nights before he had let it go.

“Excellent. Then maybe you can help me yet. You see, I have felt very strongly since that evening that I needed to find you. I cannot stop thinking of you. I feel as though it is very important that I be near you. I cannot explain it.” Castiel’s beautiful features twist in confusion as he looks at Dean intently, as though trying to discern what it is about him that makes him feel so drawn to Dean.

“That’s an awfully fancy way to ask someone out on a date,” Dean laughs again, looking at him appreciatively.

“You misunderstand me,” he objects. “I do not want a date. I want to speak with you so that I can get to know you and understand why it is I feel this thing.”

“Thing?” Dean echoes, unflattered.

“Yes, this compulsion to…to…I’m unsure how to explain it. Perhaps I would be able to if I were not feeling so, uncomfortable."

“Well, I can tell you this isn’t terribly comfy for me either,” Dean says sharply.

“I do apologize,” he says contritely. “I am not meaning to make you feel that way. I realize I have also been terribly rude, seeking you out at your brother’s employer. Why, I haven’t even asked your name!”

“Winchester,” he says politely, “Dean is fine. It’s what most people call me.”

“Its my pleasure,” Castiel says with a formal nod of his head..

 “Right, well, I feel much better,” he says sarcastically.

 “Good,” he says, intentionally overlooking his snide comment. “Perhaps then you would not mind meeting me for a cup of coffee or a drink after you finish working for the day? I assume you will be headed to your employer shortly after saying hello to your brother? I would very much like to speak to you in a less formal, more comfortable atmosphere. Perhaps then you would not feel so awkward?”

“That’s very nice of you, but I’m afraid I have an appointment tonight that I cannot miss.” Dean shrugged noncommittally.  

“Later, then? Perhaps when you finish?” Castiel suggests, unperturbed by the rejection.

“I’m afraid this appointment might go quite late into the evening. It’s one of those things where you cannot plan how long you will be required to stay,” Dean replies, feeling both exasperated and flattered at the handsome man’s persistence.

“Another time then,” he says casually, placing his hand on her shoulder.

The touch of his hand sets Dean reeling as the room melts away. Nothing exists but the man before him, his hand warm and firm upon his shoulder. Dean’s eyes hungrily take in the firmness of his chest and slide down the gentle ridges there until they reach his hips. His eyes reach their destination, the soft hollow of his hips where Dean’s mouth is working. Castiel’s skin is smooth beneath his tongue and he explores it eagerly. With each flick, each nip from his teeth Dean can feel his body responding to the overwhelming passion he lavishes upon him.

A soft moan escapes the hunter’s throat as he slides his hands up Cas’s bare legs to hold more firmly to his hips. He draws him closer, eager to taste him more fully. His eyes flutter as he kisses her way across his stomach until he reaches the musky trail of hair in the center of his stomach. Cas’s grip on his shoulder tightens as a strangled cry chokes him as Dean’s mouth moves downward.

At the sound of his gasp Dean looks up at him. As he does his vision clears and the shop slowly reforms around him. Yet again Dean finds himself standing inexplicably close to Castiel. The heat from his body warms him, and his breath is surprisingly sweet as it brushes against Dean’s neck.

 He steps away quickly, his skin flushing from embarrassment and the unexpected nearness.

 “Are you alright?” Her looks at Dean, puzzled.

“Yeah,” He says quickly. “I’m fine, just fine. Uh, thanks, Cas, for asking.”

“Okay.” He smiles at her with a knowing look in his eyes. “Since you’re fine, I’ll say goodbye. I’ll see you sometime soon for that talk.”

Without waiting for Dean to respond he turns and walks to the front of the store. His eyes follow him as he leaves, lingering over his tall frame. Dean shakes his head, wondering what it is about that man that causes her to react so strongly. Even as he wonders, he cannot tear his eyes from him- watching him walk in front of the tall glass windows that line the front of the store.

Despite the brightness of the day, the room grows dimmer as he passes from Dean’s sight. The shadows on the wall lengthen as the light flees. He braces herself against the shelf he had been standing near, his eyes flicking to the shadow on the wall that never seems to leave anymore. Noticing the hunter’s attention, it grows larger and chases along the wall, filling the jars of herbs and flowers as it comes closer to him. Dean’s breath comes in shallow gasps as his vision dims.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he wishes that the mysterious man, Castiel, would come back and be close to him. Somehow the shadow did not seem so noticeable before. As the darkness threatens to overwhelms him he pushes the idea of Cas’s strong arms around him out of his head. Almost without warning, the shadow recedes to its place on the wall.

 Shaken, slides down to the floor, willing himself to focus and to forget that he imagined, just for a moment, that he could actually taste Castiel’s skin on his lips. He’d almost just fainted, for godssake, from the Shadow. The least he could do is stop fantasizing about strangers and focus on important things. Like breathing. And standing up before Sammy spotted him and called Bobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Well, I say friends...hello lurkers! I am gradually making my way towards more exciting things! I love you all! 
> 
> Talk to me, I am very nice. Super friendly. Tell me about your ships. Tell me about your pets. Tell me about your kinks for heaven's sakes...I love to hear what you love!


	5. Under the Streetlamps

Night clings heavily to the low sprawl of homes on the darkened street. Tonight the stars are almost invisible, cloaked in the velvet blackness of the sky. Each one of the unassuming ranch style homes on the street look as though they are huddling close to the ground, diminished, looking for safety.

The dim apricot glow of the flickering street lamp does nothing to alleviate the darkness as Dean steps into it. He surveys the street, looking first one way, then the other, as though trying to gain the measure of the neighborhood where he has stopped. In his hand is a worn black leather bag that looks remarkably like an old doctor’s carrying case from the fifties. The sides are faded and wrinkled from long use and it bulges from the many things he has placed inside it. As his eyes fall on the house he is seeking in the darkness, Dean’s eyes begin to gleam. He grips the handles of his bag tighter and begins to walk forward, confidence in his step. He has very nearly crossed the street when a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

            Castiel is standing on the shadowy sidewalk, causally leaned against a sleek black car that looks decidedly out of place in this rather mundane suburban neighborhood. His skin glows white and translucent against the collar of his trench coat as his head turns to follow Dean’s progress against the street. 

Without breaking stride Dean abruptly changes course and heads towards him.  

“What are you doing here,” His voice is pitched low, but the demand in it is clear. He lets his bag drop at his feet. “No- better question- why are you here and how did you manage to find me?”

“You’re not pleased to see me?” He tilts his head curiously.

“How can I be happy to see you,” Dean fumes. “I don’t know you man. I’ve seen you twice, no- three times now- in my whole life. We’ve barely held a conversation. And here you are, after I told you I didn’t want to go on a date with you because I am a very busy man, and you are standing outside the place where I have come to conduct that business. No. I am not happy to see you. Frankly, it creeps me out. I’ve seen you twice today. I didn’t realize I was this easy to track.”

“I did not mean to frighten you,” Castiel says very seriously.

“Fine. Why are you here? Did Missouri tell you where I am? Sam? Bobby? He’s normally very discreet.”

“Who is Bobby?” Castiel looks at him in alarm. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“No. Good lord no! Bobby Singer. My boss. You know- the guy who owns Singer Auto Repair, where I work during the day? I know you know where I work. You have managed to find me everywhere else I frequent.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “If Pam told you I’m going to be having words with her. Wait- did Pam send you?”

“No. No one sent me to you. I came on my own.” His eyes flicker with something akin to amusement at Dean’s consternation. “I would not dare risk you being displeased with them.”

“Oh, now you think this is funny! This is not a joke, dude.” Dean glances in the direction of the huddled houses in front of her. “You need to tell me why you are here. Now. I’ve got things to do that don’t involve me talking to a stranger-“

“Oh, I’m not a stranger now, am I?” The look of innocent offense and hurt in Castiel’s eyes is almost endearing. Almost.

“Okay, a near stranger, in the dark on a street I don’t know very well. Don’t dodge the question; I see what you’ve been doing. Why are you here?”

“The same reason I sought you out this morning, Dean. I feel like I need to be near you. I feel as though, I’m not sure how to explain it…” He looks at the hunter uncertainly.

“Try,” He says, crossing his arms over her chest.

“I feel like I am supposed to be close to you. I feel it here,” he lays his hand on his chest, drawing Dean’s eyes to the pale skin exposed by his half open collar. “I feel it in my mind. I feel that being close to you is something that you and I both need. That’s why I came to talk to you. I have this, this, I suppose you could call it a compulsion- I have a compulsion to get to know you, like there’s something we need from each other. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Dean says, his eyes searching Castiel’s guileless face in search of some ulterior motive. Finding none, he sighs. “Listen I’d still very much like to find out how you knew to find me, if you weren’t talking to our mutual acquaintances. I have work to do, though.”

“I’d be happy to tell you about if after you are finished working, if you like. I am still quite willing to take you to coffee, or to get a drink. Or perhaps you will be hungry after you work?”

“I’m always hungry after I work,” he says ruefully. “Nature of the job.”

“And what is it that you are doing this dark night that will wear you out so that you need to eat,” he teases him, looking from Dean to his bag and back again.

“Nothing like that,” he yelps. “It’s, um, complicated. Perhaps something I can explain to you whenever I finish hearing your explanation.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Castiel says, offering him his hand.

“Alright then,” he says, smothering a smile as he reaches out to take his proffered hand.

This time, as he takes his hand, Dean is almost prepared for the onslaught of images that overwhelm him. His fingers lace tightly through the smaller man’s and he feels himself being drawn closer to him. This time he doesn’t pull away from the vision, but dives into it, eager to feel the rush again, the temptation of this strange man who has haunted his fantasies since the moment he saw him. Castiel’s arms slide around him, holding him tight to his bare chest. He can feel the light dusting of hair brushing against his nipples as he slides his hands down Dean’s back and leans in to eagerly nip at Dean’s neck. Dean wraps his legs around his waist, pressing them tightly together, and throws his head back a strangled cry escaping his throat at the pleasure of Castiel’s mouth working its way down his neck.

The smaller man’s hands tangle in his hair and slide down, his fingers tightly thumbing Dean’s jawline, brushing over his bruised and swollen lips, as he murmurs in a hypnotic voice,” Beautiful. So beautiful. And you wonder why I couldn’t stay away from you…”

Dean silences him by kissing him deeply, drinking him in hungrily.  His cool, cinnamon flavored tongue slips into Dean’s mouth and she revels in the taste of him as he desperately works his mouth over Castiel’s. The sweet taste of him- cinnamon and vanilla- like cookies on Christmas morning, intoxicates him. Hungry for more, Dean takes his bottom lip into his mouth and tugs gently, eliciting a moan from Cas, who bucks his hips up and reminds Dean of the feeling of his warm, smooth body under his tongue. Dean is suddenly very aware that they are deliciously unclothed and he tears his mouth away so he can explore his lover further.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, his voice a strangled cry for more.

It is Cas who breaks the hold the vision has on Dean by pulling his hand away. He darkness swims over him suddenly as he comes crashing back to reality. Dean notices that once again he has moved very close to Castiel; that his other hand is resting lightly at the gap in his button down shirt where his skin is exposed. Dean strokes his skin tentatively, gently, and looks up at Castiel.

“What did you see just then,” he asks softly.

“How do you know I saw anything,” Dean answers shakily.

“Let’s just say I do. What were you seeing?” His hand cups Dean’s chin gently and draws it down, so that he can see his face more clearly in the flickering light of the streetlamps. Dean’s eyes flicker and he hears, in a far off place, the sound of his cry for Cas.  

“I don’t know that I want to talk about it. Maybe later, after you explain why and how you got here, I might be willing to talk about it.”

“That seems fair.” He nods and lets his hand fall away.

“Good. I have to go now,” Dean says, leaning down to pick up his bag. “Wait for me here. Hopefully this won’t take long.”

“I won’t go anywhere, I promise,” he answers.

He nods wordlessly and turns toward the house he had been looking at before he spotted Cas. He moves almost silently up the walkway, past the fading mums and the wilting roses that line it. Dean’s soft tap at the door goes unacknowledged, so he lets himself in, stepping into the dim light of the house.

Despite the fact that every light in the front room is burning the house seems faded, and dark. Inside the living room a woman waits for him, her eyes anxious, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Dean?” She rises from the couch and walks forward quickly, looking back over her shoulder at something that appears to not be there as she does.

“Yeah. I’m Dean.” He walks to meet the woman, stretching out his hand in greeting and in a gesture of comfort. “Don’t worry. This is very normal. Everything is going to be fine. I think we can get you all taken care of. Did you do the things that I had instructed you to earlier today?”

“Yes. I did. I opened all the cabinets and doors and burned sage all through the house. I lit the candles like you said. And I put that oil you gave me on all the windows and doors.” The woman looks at the ceiling as though she is searching for words or an answer. “That’s all, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, you did just fine. Now, would you like to leave while I do this for you?”

“No. No, I want to be here. What is it, Dean? What is it that is making my home feel this way?”The pleading eyes of the woman stir compassion in him, and he wraps his arm around her and gently hugs her.

“It’s just heavy energy honey. That’s all. You’ve been very stressed out, I assume, or have undergone some sort of personal trauma?”

“Yes, I…I have. I’ve been very busy with work you see. And my husband…” she trails off, her eyes tearing up.

“Don’t worry,” Dean says. “I’ve got some notes for you to help you keep this from happening again. And you can always call me if you have any questions. This is actually quite common. When we experience large amounts of harmful energy in our lives sometimes it will manifest is the form or shadows or ghosts, sometimes we give in to our fears of the things that may harm us and by thinking of them, we give them power. What you have here is a thought form that you have given power to because you are unhappy and alone. I can make it go away, I promise.

Now, if you want to stay, and I have no objection to that, I want you to understand that you must follow my instructions exactly, or one of us may come to harm.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t a big deal,” the woman steps back, her eyes wide.

“It’s not, but I am about to make that thing a little angry, because I am taking its food source away from it. You know how cranky we get when we’re hungry? Well, I’m about to haul his ass out of a buffet restaurant. He won’t like it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to work, and while I work, I am going to be inside a circle I am going to make on the floor. I want you to be silent, and to sit on the couch and not come into my circle or interfere with my work in any way, no matter how frightening it may seem. You must stay absolutely still. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Dean nods as he leads her over to the couch. “I’m going to get started then.”

As the woman settled on to the couch Dean reaches into his black leather bag and begins pulling out supplies: a long black cloth with a pentagram on the center, a jar of brilliantly white sea salt, another jar full of holy water, several tall pillar candles in black, white and red. There is a gasp from the couch when he reaches in to grab a shining black handled knife.

“Don’t worry,” Dean smiled at her. “I’m only using it to direct energy. No blood, I promise.”

With a laugh he turns back to his supplies and pulls out a huge black orb made of obsidian and a jar of oil. He stands and arranges all of the tools on the coffee table, which he empties of other objects and drags to the center of the room. 

After casting a salt circle around himself, Dean settles into the familiar routine of cleansing. His mouth says the words and his hands move almost of their own accord. He has done this hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. That, in and of itself, is comforting. He is almost done, is almost ready to wrap things up and send the thought-form away when the candles on the table begin to flare. With panic rising inside him, Dena realizes that his energy is starting to flag. The room, which had begun to clear, was bathed in shadow and fog. Quickly, Dean reaches into his bag and pulls out a special herb mixture. Tossing it into the small brazier he has erected on the table, he murmurs quickly, “ _Luce convocano per coloro che non ne hanno. Chiedo forza e intuizione. Partecipare a me!”_

The relief is almost immediate. But as he finished Dean becomes very aware of the shadow, his unwelcome shadow, reeling and dancing on the wall, a grim reminder that he has no way yet of sending it away. That he is no closer to finding an Illume than he was before. When he gets home, he thinks, he must…but Castiel is waiting outside for him, he remembers. At the thought of Castiel the darkness, and the pain attending it, becomes almost blinding. He pushes the man out of his mind and focuses on the created light, finishing the banishing with little grace but complete efficiency.

Dean Waves off payment from the woman, instead asking her to donate to a local charity he hands her a card for. The involvement will help her heal, he knows, and he doesn’t like taking payment for his work. It sullies it, he feels. He gathers his things and steps out into the night, his eyes immediately seeking the sleek black car that Castiel had appeared by earlier.

Dean spots him, still waiting patiently, as though he had never moved. He walks to him cautiously, mindful of the moment in the house where he had thought of Cas and the darkness had almost overcome him. Was it possible that this man, and his own erotic visions of his (however pleasurable) were making him weak? He had never heard of it…but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible.

To his relief, each step closer to Castiel was making him feel light, more whole. The brightness under the streetlamp seemed to increase as they drew closer together, each step the twinkle of a single brilliant star above them. Castiel reaches out and takes the bag from Dean, tossing it into the car and opening the door for him.

“Dean, I see you came through your project in one piece. Everything was successful I hope?” His eyes, dark with concern, seemed almost to know that something had not gone well.

“Barely,” Dean acknowledges. “But that’s a story for later, I think.”

“I agree,” Castiel nods. “Tell me Dean, where would you like me to take you?”

The huskiness in Castiel’s voice is natural, but Dean feels like the tone in which its asked is unmistakable. He lets his eyes travel over his face and down his throat. Suppressing a shiver at the memory of his vision earlier he wets his lips and answers quietly, “I’m pretty exhausted, Cas. Maybe we could pick up some burgers? I think I want to take you to my house.”

Wordlessly, Castiel nods and pulls out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I am finally getting the wheels turning so that we are able to get to more of the fun stuff! I hope you are all enjoying!


	6. White hot and without warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who is reading and a very special thank you and hello to hearts_reflection, who has been an awesome encouragement to me.

The familiar shape of home is a comfort to Dean as Castiel pulls into the driveway at his direction. The dark man spares an approving glance for the Impala, gleaming in the dark, before reaching between them to gather up the sack of take-out. His eyes flick questioningly to Dean, who nods wordlessly, and walks with him to the front door. Inside, Castiel shows no surprise at the warm woodsy tones of the house, the scent of leather that pervades the living room, or the flecks of green around each room- Sam’s plants. 

Dean throws himself onto the couch and begins to pull burgers out of the sack without ceremony. His eyebrows raise slightly when Castiel strides past him and into the kitchen. After a moment he returns with a couple of beers in each hand, and Dean accepts two of them gratefully. As Castiel begins to unwrap his food Dean watches him lazily, and a little hungrily. The magnetic man across from him seems completely at ease, as though they have known each other for much longer. With his trench coat thrown aside and his button down shirt open at the throat, he looks almost debauched. Dean’s eyes linger on his mouth as he eats, the stretch of it, the delicate pink slip of his tongue as it catches the toppings. The utter abandon with which the smaller man devours the food is- Dean casts around in his mind for a word and can only come up with sexy.

“You seem very comfortable, Cas,” he half teases. “It’s almost like you’ve been here before.”

“I do feel quite at home with you, Dean,” he replies very seriously. “From the moment I saw you in that alley, I feel like I have known you for a very long time. It makes it easy to forget that we are merely acquaintances.”

“Strangers,” Dean corrects him. 

“I don’t know, Dean,” Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think we should use that word.” 

“Why? It’s the appropriate one.” Dean leans back against the arm of the couch, stretching his legs out between them, crossing his ankles as he sips at his beer.

“I think you know why,” Castiel looks at him hard and waits until Dean meets his eyes, flushing hotly, before continuing. “We can discuss that soon.

“I wanted, though, to explain to you. You must be wondering how I found you and why I am pursuing you- well, why I am seeking your company so intently. I’m a psychic. A very powerful one.”

“Which is how you know Pam,” Dean states.

“Of course,” Castiel nods as if this is a given. “The night you ran into me I was seeking her advice. I had been having a reoccurring vision for several weeks. There was a man, a strong man, one who dealt with the supernatural, though in a different aspect than myself. I felt this strong compulsion whenever I had this vision to protect, to…to…” Castiel gestured, frustrated, with his hands. “I suppose I felt the need to take care of this man. I understood that he was in grave danger, something is trying to destroy him and I cannot see what it is. Something is stalking him and will not rest until he is destroyed.”

“So you went to Pam to find out how to help him?” Dean raised the beer to his lips again, nodding as if to confirm this is the course of action he would have taken himself.

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “I was trying to discover who he was. Pamela could not see him, as much as she tried, he was clouded, as though in shadow, from her sight. No matter what way I tried to project the vision of him to her, she could not receive it.”

“Bad week for Pam,” Dean mused, “Since I’ve been asking for her help and she’s had her hands tied there too. Must be hell to be 0 for 2 when you’re the best in the game.”

“No, she did help me in a small way. She told me I would run into him soon, and I would know him immediately. She said I would sense the rarity of the soul I am duty bound to protect.” Castiel set aside the food wrappers and reached for a drink. 

“That’s helpful?” Dean asked. “Doesn’t sound like an ID to me…”

“No. But the moment I stepped outside the shop I saw you. I literally ran into you, Dean. I knew you, from the very moment our skin met. I could feel you, you felt as you did in my vision.” Castiel leaned towards Dean earnestly. “I could not mistake that feeling.”

“Dude,” Dean objected, leaning back. “You’re saying you have hot dreams about me and Pam told you this?”

“Hot dreams?” Castiel looked puzzled. “No, Dean, I sense you. I see your face. It is your soul I feel in my visions- not your body.” 

“Oh.” Dean released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, trying to sort out why he felt so deflated. 

“Once I saw you,” Castiel continued relentlessly, “I started seeing places I could find you. At your brother’s workplace, at your own, under the streetlamp tonight. I cannot explain it, but I must be near you- to keep you safe. I feel this very strongly.”

“Listen, Cas, I’m flattered, but I think I will be fine. That’s what I do for a living man. Sam and I are Hunters, I know you know what those are if you're a psychic. I keep evil from harming people. I dispel the dark. I drive off demons. I cope with hauntings, spooks and the unknown. My brother and I were raised to this life. We are two of the most talented, powerful witches in the country. We are the youngest dispellers of evil in the last five generations. It has been taught in our family for as long as anyone can remember. This is my birthright- to be in danger and to go into it anyway, for the betterment of mankind.”

“Perhaps you need the aid of a powerful psychic, then,” Castiel counters quickly. “Perhaps it is my aid you need to see the great evil that approaches. I feel certain of it Dean, something is coming for you, I cannot abide it.” 

“I don’t know,” Dean says doubtfully. 

Castiel leans in, taking the beer from Dean’s hand, brushing it lightly with his own. He sets it aside and takes the tips of Deans fingers into his palm, closing his hand over them, “Dean, perhaps you should trust my visions, which are always accurate, and let me act as a psychic body guard for you.”

“Cas,” Dean says hoarsely, choking back a yelp as an electric streak of searing heat courses the length of his arm and past his shoulder, wrapping its near-blinding tendrils around Dean’s chest. “Are you sure you’re just wanting to guard my body?”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise and then darken quickly. He pulls Dean’s hand, still wrapped in his, behind his neck. It’s a matter of nothing and Dean is in his lap, knees pressing to the sides of his hips, his chest flush against Castiel’s own as he reaches up to catch the hunter’s lips. 

Dean moans as Castiel cradles him in his arms, his lips parting to let his candy-sweet tongue tease the plushness of his mouth. He groans into Castiel’s mouth, one hand firmly on the nape of the psychic’s neck, the other tangling in his down-soft hair. Castiel arches his back shamelessly, pressing their chests closer as he pulls Dean by the hips, closer and closer again, feeling the heat and hardness of their bodies pressed together at last. The kiss is frantic, hungry and desperate- each man having waited out his desire in painful and silent agony. The deep, tight sensation of the kiss leaves them whimpering into each other’s mouths, wanting more- so much more- and to never stop at the same time. 

Without warning, a blinding light pulls them tight together. The dark and shadows of the room seem heavy, each corner of the room a theater-dark mask for the vision that overtakes them both. Behind their eyes, blinded, their passion continues unabated. They are together, bodies wet with the sweat of their passion, connected completely. The vise of Castiel’s arms around his body is torture and freedom as he presses deep into Dean, their heat and need flaring that same electric cord around them, twining and driving them deeper and harder together as they work the passion between them. Above them is the dark, the fearful purple-black of night amid a lightning storm of brilliant pink-white fury. It seems as a frightening candle burning too hot and too short as they fuel it together, somehow together…Dean throws his head back and calls out Castiel’s name- his hands tangled in his lovers as they push over the edge of ecstasy and the storm breaks around them. 

Dean opens his eyes and tears his mouth from Castiel’s in surprise. He blinks rapidly, seeing the shadows settle back into the corners of the room as they had been before, the vision fading almost as quickly as it had come on. Below him, Castiel looks up at him in wonder, his fingers raising briefly to stroke the rise of Dean’s cheekbone before falling over his throat and into his lap. 

“I see now, Dean, why you were so reluctant to talk to me. If you have been having visions like that since you met me…”

“No,” Dean shook his head, pulling back slightly, a questioning look in his eyes. “I only have them when I am touching you. Or, at least, I did until tonight. This, this was different. It was…wait- you saw what I was seeing while we were kissing?”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel nodded, “I can share my visions. I am surprised that you are experiencing my gift. Are you psychic normally?”

“Not like this, no.” Dean shakes his head a second time and hesitates, trying to decide how to gracefully remove himself from Castiel’s lap. 

“Ah,” It seems my gift is amplified by you. Perhaps yours are amplified for me, as well?” Castiel leans Dean back gently, allowing him to slide away. He shivers softly, acknowledging the ache at the loss of the hunter from his lap.

“Cas-“ Dean reaches out, feeling for the first time in some time, insecure.

“Dean, do not trouble yourself,” Castiel smiles at him gently, leaning in to trace the shape of Dean’s lower lip with his tongue, “whatever this is, we shall resolve it. When we do, I swear to you, the vision we had tonight will be nothing compared to what awaits us. I desire you very much, but we must ensure your safety first. I will be in touch with you soon.”

“A phone call is fine,” Dean jokes weakly as Castiel pulls a blanket from the back of the leather couch and puts it over Dean. When the door closes behind Castiel, Dean lays back and tries to forget the feeling of Castiel’s body- very warm and very real- hard and willing underneath him. The thought alone sends the desperate ache from before careening through his body.   
Without a second thought Dean slips his jeans over his hips and reaches down to stroke his aching cock. Just the kisses between him and Cas has his body weeping from passion. The scent of the other man lingers on his skin, on the couch, and Dean turns his face into it, letting the details of their shared vision flood his mind. Castiel’s name slips from his mouth, over and over as he pleasures himself. The soft chant of his name works Dean into a deep, hard rhythm that overwhelms him. The white-pink flare of desire that he had seen as a lightening storm of passion in the vision began to flare in his body, working itself through his hands and over his length, an electric tease of what Castiel had promised him. Dean felt his pleasure start to ripple through him, stirring in his chest and spreading through him like a fire. 

“Cas, Cas, Cas,” he bit into the side of the couch, his pleasure tempered with the pain of how roughly and desperately he was handling himself. 

His release was still flowing into his hand when the room darkened without warning. The oppressive weight from the vision overwhelmed him- more strongly than in Missouri’s shop, more strongly than earlier in the evening when he was doing his work. The walls crawled with night and still darker things and the shadow that followed him always, his burden, his fear, walked to the edge of the couch, where he lay pleasured and vulnerable. Dean looked, despite his better judgment, into the darkness, into where the eyes of that shadow would be and saw nothing but loss and despair. 

The room began to spin and Dean closed his eyes unwillingly, and prayed that he really did hear the desperate call of his brother shouting his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, suggestions, prompts and general chattiness are always welcome.


End file.
